Watching others walk glued to their phones, I realized I was the one running from my emotions

The station, morning.

I weave through people walking with their eyes on their phones.

Everyone's looking down.

Some thumbs are chasing social media, some are checking the weather. Some guy's staring at the train times.

A lot of them are looking up useful stuff, actually.

But watching them, I wonder. Maybe it's not information they want. Maybe they just don't want their fingers to stop.

There's always a moment you get bored of social media. And still, head down, you open the weather instead.

You check today's and tomorrow's forecast again — the one you've already seen a dozen times.

It doesn't feel as guilty as social media, so it doesn't feel like running.

That's how it looked to me. Just how it looked. I don't actually know if that person is running from anything.

What I do know is that I do the same thing.

When I'm alone, something rises up from inside. I ignore it and pick up my phone. I try to get something from outside.

Or rather, I try to run from something.

But no matter how much I search outside, it's not there. I search expecting it to be there, and it's not. The answer was never outside.

The truth is, I know.

I know it's there, behind the door. But I didn't open it.

When I stop reaching for my phone, I notice it again and again. That it's there, behind the door.

• Watching others walk glued to their phones, I saw myself putting a lid on my own feelings.

• The answer wells up from inside, yet I was desperate to find it outside.

• I only knew it was inside — I never opened the door.